


Her Streets

by CavannaRose



Series: Rose Wilson Fics [14]
Category: Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics), Terror Titans (Comics)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Swearing, Theft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 10:32:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7636747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavannaRose/pseuds/CavannaRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you're new to the trade, Rose Wilson's part of town is probably the wrong place to start.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Gotham was, as far as Rose could tell, the Crime Capitol of the world. Sure other cities had problems, but despite the fact the nights were lousy with Bats and Birds and various other heroes, it seemed the problems were getting worse. Rose wasn't a hero. She wasn't exactly a criminal either, not in the traditional sense. She looked out for number one, stayed out of her father's radar, that was all that mattered.

She'd kept her little corner of town pretty crime free for the last little while, not an easy feat in this brooding metropolis. Perhaps the name Ravager didn't carry the fear that Bats and his brood had spread through the criminal element, but her reputation was enough to keep the common crooks down other alleys. Or at least it had been.

The job she'd worked tonight had gone south faster than lesbians on a lunch date. Not only was the target not there, but there'd been a whole greeting party for the masked assassin. Rose could normally sniff a setup out a mile away, but she'd gotten careless since ... well since the Incident. Tonight may have cured her of the drink and kill method of contract completion at least. She'd barely gotten out of there with no more than her original holes.

She winced, tugging the bandage on her left arm tighter. All right, she had a few extra holes, but not as many as those assholes had. You try to get the drop on a Wilson, and they're the only ones walking back out of the room. That was a firm rule, and one she stuck to.

Tugging the mask from her head, she shook out her curling white hair, adjusting the eye patch over her scarred face in a practiced motion before tucking her mask into the back of her pants. No need to be all intimidating down here, her neighbours were already terrified of her, after all.

She was about to turn onto her street when movement caught her eye. Shadows on shadows. Curious, she crouched low, pressing against the wall and drawing one of her katana before peering along the row of shops. There, in the narrow alley between two stores, was a figure, all bundled up against recognition.

Rose sighed. Hadn't she taught all the thieves in Gotham that this street was off-limits yet? She dropped the dagger from her left wrist sheathe into her hand, judging the heft for a moment before tossing it. The blade sliced through the night air, embedding in the mouldering stone work beside the boy's head with a soft 'thunk'. The one-eyed young woman strode up quickly behind the blade, pulling her other katana from it's sheathe as she did so.

"I swear to fuck, you picked the wrong fucking night to be fucking up shit on my street, asshole."


	2. Chapter 2

Max's eyes widened in slight shock, but not fear. Never fear. _The_ Rose Wilson, Deathstroke's daughter. The Ravager after her brother died... And she was pissed at him. He almost felt like laughing, but didn't simply because she was likely to cut off his head with those Katanas. He would if someone laughed at him in this situation, and Max was not suicidal.

Not yet.  
  
"A'ight, Lass? Y'see, I ain't seen no sign sayin' this here be your street." He rumbled in a rough approximation of a much thicker accent, thanking the Bat Doll for forcing him into those acting lessons when he was younger. "In fac', y'know, I ain't ever hear' of this here bein' your street." He narrowed his eyes, how the fuck had he never seen her here before if this was _her_ street. And then Max's brain caught up with his mouth and he could have sworn. Now he was going to die. She was going to go all psycho bitch and murder him, all because she looked like she was on the ass end of an ass-kicking.

Despite popular opinion, that spinning and course character assassin that functioned as the rumour mill in the .... community of those that fought with powers beyond the norm, Rose was a complex creature. Admittedly, raw was her primary drive, her go-to motivation. It was easy to muster, given the life she had led, but if they had learned anything during the horrors of The Blackest Night, it was that her emotions were a complex coil. Anger was just easier. It let you pretend the other emotions didn't exist.  
  
They boy, and she meant boy, he had that gangliness to his frame, that unfinished quality to he voice that even the affected accent couldn't hide, was starting to pluck at the sympathetic nerve she hated to admit to having. It wasn't long ago she'd been in his position, but rules were rules, and if she went soft here, she'd lose the grasp on what fear she'd conjured by her irrational rage and mood swings.  
  
"You must be new to the scene, or else the crooks around here just don't like your head where it is." She tossed her hair back out of her face, her usual scowl deepening as she watched the young thief. "No one pulls shit here, all the way to the fucking Fourth. I don't give a fuck if this is part of Crime Alley, I don't want any god-damned Bats nosing about in my backyard, so you fuckers go get your kicks the fuck elsewhere." She approached him as she spoke, getting into his space a bit, but not close enough for a dagger in the side if he had one.  
  
"Well. Fuck." His voice back in it's typical Gotham accent, not even bothering to hide. He didn't wear much of a mask, only covering the bottom part of his face, but his eyes were fairly distinct seeing as in the right light they glowed Amber. "I ain't even gon' try and explain that," He spoke clearly, almost in a bored tone, as of he were apathetic to the fact Rosie could cut off his head at any moment. "But, I do have a damn good reason for starting shit tonigh', not that you'll care. Capes never do, and right now you're acting slightly cape-like." He'd grown up with villain's henchmen as his only contact after the age of seven, so he couldn't help but use their slang.

  
She wasn't a big fan of prevarication, and fake accents? Both idiotic and irritating, cardinal sins in the Wilson bible. She sheathed her right hand katana with a snap, snarling at the teen in front of her. "Call me a cape again, I fucking dare you. They might slap you in prison, I'll just paint the street with your entrails and be on my fucking way home." She gave him a nasty smile. "That's why they don't like me."   
  
... But she wouldn't, not yet anyway. Her main reason for leaving the Teen Titans had centred around the fact that they just hadn't /listened/. So quick to judge because of Slade, because of the serum that made her more prone to violence... because she wasn't afraid of the permanent solutions they were all told by their older counterparts were the worst thing to do. Well her mentor hadn't been a good guy, but he had gotten results.... In return, Rose Wilson wasn't any kind of hero.  
  
"Think of me more like a dangerous predator, something _real_ territorial and you'll be closer to the mark. This is Gotham. Life is shit. No one cares about your sob story, they're too busy living their own. You want sympathy? Go to Metropolis. They still lie to each other and pretend life is shiny. If you're stuck here with the rest of us? Place your mark on unclaimed turf, there's still plenty out there."


End file.
